


Perhaps Love

by EverydayClumsy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Kinda, M/M, Mild Gore, Not Beta Read, Read the note at the beginning for more info, Romance, Songfic, Tragedy, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1253428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverydayClumsy/pseuds/EverydayClumsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A distant rumble and then the soft sound of rain patting on the sun warmed ground broke the silence that had settled over Baltimore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perhaps Love

**Author's Note:**

> Holy Moly my dear Sweets!!!
> 
> I have a story to tell you, so listen up my Sugarplums! This is how this 'wonderful' fic became.
> 
> Soo, some weeks ago I started to write another fic called 'Always yours' and I'm trying to post as I write (Isn't working that well, eh? Good job Clumsy!), so I sat down Thursday and stared/scowled at what I had written until then (I always do that, hoping for inspiration from out of the blue! Nah, joking! Just trying to get into character.), nothing happened, so I put music on random on and I'm sitting there and then there is this damn song.
> 
> I think my brain short circuited when it started, John Denver's 'Perhaps Love' and my brain goes "YOU HAVE TO FUCKING WRITE DOWN THOSE IMAGES, LOOK HOW FUCKING GREAT I AM, HELPING YOU AND SHIT!" and my subconsciousness goes" _Yeah, but that's a new fic and you kinda want to work on the other one and there are others you want to finish_." "DO WHAT I SAY YOU, GO WRITE, I AM ONCE GOOD TO YOU AND WHAT DO YOU TO ME, DENY ME MY RIGHT TO INSPIRE IMAGES, **_YOU BITCH_**!"
> 
> So my Sweets guess what I did? - I sat down and started writing that damn fic!
> 
> I wrote the beginning on Thursday and wanted to continue on Friday but than life came in between, when I had time again to write it was already late so I just browsed tumblr and waited for Season 2 Episode 1, by 3 am (time-zones and crap, so Hannibal is at 4 am) I hit my head against my mouse and gave up. Told myself "Fuck it, I'll download it when someone ups it somewhere, not worth it." And my subconsciousness whined " _But Mads and his badass acting_."
> 
> Wanna guess what I then actually did? Forgot in my tired haze that drinking super strong tea is not good and **doesn't** help you sleep, it rather keeps you awake for hours and hours and hours. (See a pattern? My subconsciousness does.) It was too late to watch Hannibal when I was awake enough with enough tea in my body to pay attention that I started to write this piece! So I've been writing on it for roughly 14 hours (Plus some hours on Thursday). 
> 
> To be perfectly honest, I'm fucking proud of it! I wrote in the style I always wanted to, it's _of course_ not perfect, but hell I don't give a damn in the moment. 
> 
>  **ALSO, SUPER ANNOUNCEMENT!** It's the _first ever_ fic for me where I wrote sex. I actually wanted to write PWP but it just really fit here and it's the longest fic I have uploaded (I've written longer stuff, but it's all unfinished. Good job Clumsy! You should keep starting new fics. Dumb-ass.)
> 
>  
> 
> **TL;DR: I wrote a thing and I'm proud of it, read it!**
> 
>  
> 
> Ps. As always not betaed, because no beta reader (You can guess from my Monologue up there ^^^ why.) feel free to point out mistakes.
> 
> Now I'm going to make food and drink more tea and wait until my heart jumps out of my mouth.

* * *

_Perhaps love is like a resting place_

_A shelter from the storm_

_It exists to give you comfort_

_It is there to keep you warm_

_And in those times of trouble_

_When you are most alone_

_The memory of love will bring you home_

_And some say love is holding on_

_And some say letting go_

_And some say love is everything_

_Perhaps love is like the ocean_

_Full of conflict, full of pain_

_Like a fire when it's cold outside_

_Thunder when it rains_

_If I should live forever_

_And all my dreams come true_

_My memories of love will be of you_

[Abridgment, ‘Perhaps Love’ by John Denver 1981]

 

 

A distant rumble and then the soft sound of rain patting on the sun warmed ground broke the silence that had settled over Baltimore. The yellow hues of the graying city turned to dark blues and washed-out blacks. The midsummer rain lightly knocked against the windows of the houses, drop after drop chasing each other, flowing together and breaking apart again in a never ending race. The smell of wet concrete swelled in the air.

The whole city stilled in the evening hours, a car passed by, splashing water driving through a puddle, disturbing the quiet of the rain with its humming engine. The driver’s hands were steady on the wheel and a smile tugged at his lips as his passenger talked smiling and glancing at him. Her blond wavy hair softly brushing over her shoulders with the movement of the car.

A pair of sparrows snuggled together on a telephone wire, their tiny bodied pressed together, large beads of clear water rolled down their feathers. Their eyes closed, not bothered by the downpour.

At the horizon a sliver of light broke through the ashen sky. The setting sun bathed everything in flaming reds and oranges, some faint pinks mixing with the deep cobalts of the evening sky. The colors reflected and swam together in the puddles on the streets. The dark blues and blacks of the shadows changing into violets. A symphony of colors in every raindrop, a composition for only those who bothered to look.

 

 In the fireplace logs of ash slowly burned spreading the smell of slightly bitter vanilla, mixing with the natural smell of the house, warm cedar and fresh lavender. Dreamlike light from outside slipped through the windows and fused with the flickering light of the soft fire, creating shadow plays on the dark Victorian walls. In the rows and rows of books the golden inscriptions glimmered in the lazy light.

A long forgotten glass of deep red Pont Noir sat on the antique stand next to the armchair, light catching in the fine crystal. The slightly worn leather stretched over the armrest; smooth like black coffee it winded itself around the mahogany skeleton. A pattern of ivy leaves carved into the reddish wood, fading over the years but still visible to the knowing eye.

A closed book lay next to the crystal glass, the edges worn and the pages yellowed. A red silk band marked where the last time eyes met the black letters.

The sanguine eyes that lost themselves in the words and sentences abandoned the well cared copy and the glass of wine in favor of memories. His thoughts were miles away, staring unseeingly out of the window, missing the colorful play that the world laid in front of his feet.

A soft knock on the door tugged the resting man from his memories. His long limbs stretched out as he rose from his seat. Heavy cotton hugged his muscular body, midnight blue and bordeaux, an armor that he didn't need. He was a picture of perfection and control, from his slicked back graying hair to his polished back shoes.

His steps made no sound as he ghosted to the entrance through his house – not a home. An expanse of elegance and beauty, expensive woods and authentic paintings, fine patterns and a mix of antique and modern décor.

His silent footsteps stopped in front of the entrance, the dark rosewood held the bustling outside world back. A house sealed in solemn silence, a sanctuary for an old mind, a temple of the cruel. Even through the closed door the sweet scent of fewer, the bitter tang of sorrow and the electric energy of nervousness seeped through.

His long fingers curled around the heavy door handle, the metal cool against his warm palm. He pressed it down opening the door, the outside world slowly unfolding itself before him.

The water slid down the wood of the pillars holding up the patio roof, darkening it in places where it left its path. The grass sprang to new life under the soothing touch of the midsummer storm. Through the branches of the tall tree, in front of the house, the water slowly soaked the thirsty earth. The violet rose blooms collected the rain until their crowns couldn’t hold the weight anymore and dipped them, as in gratitude for the wet offering, spilling the life liquid on to the ground.

 

In front of him stood a man.

His usual soft unruly curls plastered to his forehead. Dark chocolate instead of early fall hazel. The water slid from his hair down his cheek and collected under his collar, his disheveled clothing already damp from the rain. His glasses abandoned in his jackets pocket.

His fingers twitched nervously, his shoulders were sagged, the weight of the world to heavy to carry for one man alone.

“Will.” His voice poured out of his mouth like whisky, a little rough but with a smooth finish, heavy with accent. He stepped gracefully aside and watched the twitching man enter his temple.

“What brings you here?” Polite curiosity in carefully spoken words.

Will’s summer blue eyes focused for a moment on the perfectly made tie knot that sat against the other mans throat. The bordeaux making his skin glow. They stayed a second and skittered away in the next. They glided over sharp cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, a strong jaw and pouty lips. For a moment they met the sanguine eyes of his therapist and friend. Sanguine that is more blood than earth.

A slight worry in the line of his mouth and the pinch around his eyes appeared “Will?” his hand landed on his unannounced guests shoulder.

A deep sigh and his shoulders dropped even more and his face crumbled “I…” His voice barely a whisper, broken and tired. “I just needed to talk to someone.” Words slow, like they were foreign in his mouth. The notion of speech a new one or one that has been used so often that it destroyed itself, in all the meaningless words and sentences.

Strong hands guided the fragile body and even more fragile mind into the room the host occupied himself only moments ago. Only now his eyes captured the strange light filling the room, light and dark, reds and oranges, even Dutch masters wouldn’t be able to capture the mixture of the shadows and lights, shifting, forming and fading. His eyes raked over the room memorizing it, memorizing the feel of the soft cotton as he removed the damp jacket form his guest’s shoulders and the fewer burning underneath it, the even softer cotton of his pale beige shirt and the shift of his muscles as he guided him to his own seat.

His lithe fingers picked up the book and slid it back to where it belonged and returned the glass to the kitchen. The jacket found its way to the coat rack to dry slowly. His silent steps brought him back to his guest, a soft towel draped over his arm. His shoulders were hunched over and his face buried in his hands. His strong fingers trembling slightly, his body closed off, trying to hold in what was left of him. He placed the towel on his head and rubbed it once or twice and settled it over his shoulders. His hair now stuck up in every direction. His face was still buried behind his hands.

He withdrew a tumbler and filled it with amber liquid out of the heavy crystal bottle, strong and burning, he dropped a few ice cubes in. The color enchanted by the glow of the reds around him. He stood in front of his breaking patient and held the scotch out. A slight frown appeared on his face as he didn’t get a reaction from his guest “Will?”

Calloused hands dragged over the tired face and covered his cherry lips. Strong and capable hands, hands of a worker, hands that had worked. His eyes opened slowly, old eyes, much too old for his young years. They settled on the hand holding out the amber liquid for him. A slow hand stretched out but didn’t take the offered glass.

His fingers curled around his host’s slim wrist and gently pulled him closer. His fingers burned with fever. When he was near enough his arm slid around his host’s waist and pulled him even closer, his fingers let go of the wrist sliding slowly over his arm and joined the other around his middle, heavy hands clinging to stability and protection. He buried his face in his therapist’s stomach. His shoulders started to tremble slightly.

He curiously observed his patient, a slight smile tugged at his lips. He settled the glass on the stand next to the armchair and brushed his fingers through the still slightly damp hair. The other settled in the nape of his neck and caressed it in small circles. His hand ghosted from time to time over trembling shoulders, the other slowly raking through soft curls. The fevered skin burned through the layers of his armor.

The time moved slowly, a second like a minute, a breath like a lifetime, but it wasn’t a long time they spend in this silence of soft soothing touches and an iron grip. The ice in the whiskey only slowly began to melt in the warm room.

He pulled away and turned his face away “Sorry.” A broken whisper into the dying light of the room. Shadows grew over the light and the rain gained impact and covered the wet earth. The light in the fireplace flickered and shone into the darkening room.

He kneeled down in front of his friend and turned his head with a warm palm, the slight smile long gone “What happened?” His face void of heavy emotions, slight worry and concern unwillingly showed.

Washed out summer blues found sanguine and dropped again, unseeing watching the fire. Eyes full of world weariness and the pain of hundreds of souls. “I… I got a call, from the hospital…, my Dad…, he never said anything…And…” Words tumbled clumsy out of his cherry lips. Tears flowed down his cheeks and left soft paths.

Understanding dawned behind dark eyes and warm palms found their way on damp cheeks, brushing away beads of salt rolling down. Calloused hands griped the elegant ones, fingers slipping between his.

And he leaned down, his forehead resting against the fevered one “You’ll stay the night.” He watches the summer blues for a moment, before he brought his lips to the flushed skin of his forehead. Salt and sorrow, a lasting impression. He stood up and brushed once again through the now dry hazel curls and made his way through the house preparing the guestroom. Soft light, dark blues broken with golden accents, elegance and beauty.

Back in the room the fire was slowly dying. His guest hadn’t moved a bit, he still sat there as he left him.

His shoulders bent under the weight of the world, his eyes unfocused staring into the fire. The light reflected in his eyes and died slowly. He poured himself a glass and pressed the other into his guest’s hand, dry skin against dry skin. He sat next to him on the other armchair, near enough to stretch out a hand and brush over his shoulder.

They sat there long into the night, the fire died in the fireplace and the rain calmed down outside. The clouds parted, revealing the silver moon. The pale light illuminated his profile. His long lashes resting against his cheek with every blink, from time to time beads of silver rolled down.

 

The strong north wind picked up again and waves over waves crashed into each other. The white and in places beige foam gathered at the foreshore, a distinguished off-white border over the endless coastline, dividing dark waters from the pale sand.

The sting of the winter wind was still there even if spring already melted away the last persistent ice patches on the old wooden foot walk on the backshore.

The sun peaked at the rosy cheeked lone wanderers over the edge of the horizon, who dared to venture out in the early morning hours. The water field, a deep blue or green edging on black, stretched out and greeted the sun with waves, some small barely a ripple on the surface, some big as mountains breaking into themselves. The bottomless liquid glinted in the sunlight with quicksilver peaks and falls, spreading out and gathering again.

The dunes shone under the sunbeams in tired gold, shadows shifting slowly away as the sun climbed unhurried higher into the sky.

 

Two figures walked side by side on the wooden foot walk, no space between them. The wood creaked tiredly under their feet. One talked animatedly turning around and walking a few steps backwards to see better the face of his taller companion, before falling again into step with the other man, gesturing with his hands while the other smiled amused. There were glances and soft bumps of shoulders. Hazel curls were blown back by the north wind, leaving an unobstructed open face with an honest smile. The graying hair not weighted down by its usual products held nothing of the perfect stillness and control but fell into the others eyes, eyes crinkled in genuine amusement.

Things had changed between the two men, the weight of the world still piled on the shorter ones shoulders and the other was still inhuman in the shadows, but when summer blues met sanguine earth there was warmth between them and a smile.

The shorter man brought his redden hands to his lips. His breath came out in white puffs as he tried to warm the stinging flesh. Their pace slowed as they looked over the vast expanse of the murky water.

There was a ring of a phone and the younger man sighed deeply turning to the other. He picked up and listened to the gruff voice calling them back to the crime scene. Death couldn’t wait for them.

The older man observed the younger man, he watched as his eyes pinched around the edges and lost the smile they carried when it was only the two off them. His mind wasn’t ridden with fever anymore but it didn’t make his life easier.

Summer blue eyes wandered from the tie free neck upwards to wine red lips over to the wind pinked cheeks to sanguine eyes and over to the mussed hair, his lips quirked up at the corners and he brought his hand up to smooth out the graying strands. His fingers raked through soft hair “Yes, Hannibal is here. Yes, were on our way back.” He sighed into the phone. His hand was still in the others hair as he hung up, it slowly slid down his cheek as he frowned down at his phone. It’s dead weight heavy in his hand.

The touch of his fingers was cool but the others flesh burned where the hand had touched him. As the hand threatened to return to its owner’s side as the phone disappeared into a pocket, he brought his own up and laid it over the others. He curled his hand around the cold fingers and brought them to his lips, his hot breath ghosted over them. Velvet lips against smooth cool skin.

He stepped closer and there was no more space between them, body heat mingling even through the layers of cloths. Sandalwood and lavender mixed with musk and cinnamon. One arm glided around the middle of the younger man and the other released the now warmed fingers in favor of sliding his hand over the others neck and settling it in his nape. Warm silken skin against his tanned hand.

There was a soft blush on his face as he felt the warm hands on him. His hands rested against a broad and warm chest. A shy smile played on his lips and he met sanguine earth, affection written in the depth of them and the same affection was in his eyes.

Their foreheads touched and eyes slipped shut, there was a shared breath, hot and sweet, the first gulp of water after a barefoot march through the direst desert.

Their lips met velvet and silk, the first bite of the paradise fruit in hell. Velvet moved against silk and the hands moved from the broad chest and warped themselves around the neck and brought them even closer.

A tentative swipe of a slick and warm tongue over cherry lips begged for entrance. Long fingers slipped under cotton layers of clothes, making slow circles on warm pale skin. Cherry lips parted and the tongue of the older man timidly swiped over the inner plush of the younger’s lips. It slipped past the barrier of teeth and mapped the inner sanctum of the others mouth. It moved over teeth and the hard palate, exploring as tasting. Coffee and sugar and something distinctively Will, a different sweetness to sugar, it coated his tongue like honey. It caressed the others tongue and retreated inviting it to come along.

The younger mans hands found their way into graying hair and tangled in it, relishing its soft feel against his calloused palms. His tongue followed the others into the warm cavern, the taste of strong coffee and chocolate greeted him. A slight fruity bitterness, like that of the white flesh of a pomegranate that was only Hannibal pushed through and made something stir deep in the pit of his stomach and he smiled against wine red lips. Taking carefully the lush lower lip of the older man between his and tugging slightly at it for a second before teeth gingerly took over and bit slightly down and pulled a little, extracting a soft moan from the older man. The hand on his back pulled him closer. The older man reclaimed his mouth and invited his tongue into a soft waltz of giving and taking. Silken flesh against silken flesh. The shorter man’s hand slipped under the taller ones collar and stroke over heated skin. Their bodies pressed close together. Deep breaths between deeper kisses. A moment in endlessness, a place void of everything except them.

They broke apart, their foreheads rested against each other, as the shrill ring of a phone brought them back from their journey of heat and passion. Heavy breaths mingled and sanguine eyes found summer blue ones. There were so many emotions in the sanguine ones and the summer blue ones but both men didn’t bother to read them.

The hand that found its way under the collar retreated to the warm chest and the other entangled itself out of the silken hair, combing once through to bring it into order and reached for the phone angrily screeching in his pocket.

The hand on the younger mans nape glided over his shoulders and brought him close, the other remained on the small of his back rubbing small circles into the warm skin.

Angry shouting greeted the younger man on the other end of the line. He let his head rest against the taller mans chest and held the phone away from his ear. “We’re on our way.” His voice even and calm and he ended the call pocketing the hateful device.

He looked up at the man who held him close and there was a smile on his lips only the younger man got to see. A smile that brightened his eyes and brought the corners of his mouths delicately up. He smiled back tracing the smile with a fingertip, he leaned back to entangle himself from the warm hug. The hands around him stopped him and pulled him once again closer.

The older man placed a chaste kiss against his lips, only a brief exchange of a breath and warmth, comforting and sweet. He pressed his head against the younger mans neck and tightened his arms around him. The younger mans arms came again around his neck and pulled him close. Sandalwood and lavender mixed again with musk and cinnamon.

After a moment they entangled themselves, summer blues found sanguine earth and there was a promise of time and affection in an endless setting. A hand remained on the small of the shorter mans back, reassuring and comforting, warmth seeping into his heart.

 

The evening sun dipped down over the horizon, broad red strokes bathed the landscape in glaring crimson and sharp black. They sat next to each on the small shabby couch, grayed over the years of use, in the small hotel room of the younger man. The soft electric light pushed away the reds from outside and smoothed out the shadows inside.

The younger man tried to dispel the monster in which’s mind he had to slip today. Bloody roses bloomed behind his eyes when he closed them.

Pale bodies, mouths set in pleasant smiles, black holes where eyes should have been crying bloody tears. Flower crowns of red and white roses, bodies nailed to crosses made of heavy oak wood, painted with the blood of the ones anchored to them. He can still hear them scream as the rusty square nails tear through the soft flesh, ripping sinews and breaking bones. He can feel his hands slashing open their bodies. He can still see the fresh blood dropping from their finger tips, their heads hung and blood flowing down from the cuts on their throats, flowing down their naked pale bodies and dripping down their toes pooling around the bases of the crosses. The smell of rotting flesh and incense still in his nose. He shuts his eyes tightly and rubs the base of his hands against them. Sparkling lights dismissing the blood roses for a second before they return in full bloom. The screams in his ears only getting louder.

And in an instance his ears are covered and the screams dim down. He opens his eyes and sanguine earth meets his summer blues. He takes a deep breath and hopes that the screams will die with their bodies and won’t plague him in his dreams. He is tugged up by the same hands that calmed the voices in his mind and led to the bathroom. He is stripped of his clothes, the smell of the crime scene soaked deep into the fibers. The other stripped too and led him into the shower. The warm water soaked into the tired bodies, washing away the day. As the warm water run down his body the monster also washed out of his mind. He pressed his head against the firm shoulder of the taller man and mouthed a ‘Thank you’ against his collarbone. Strong arms came around him and gathered him close, a soft kiss was pressed against his temple.

They stood a while under the warm water and slowly cleaned each other. Soap slicked hands glided over each other’s bodies. Skin against skin, a spark of lust forming between them. Pale skin stretched over muscular arms, a trail of dark hair down the navel pooling in his pubic region. Tanned skin, muscles and heat. Silver hair spread over the broad chest, trailing down to his navel and to his groin. Hands discovered what they missed while removing the clothes before, monsters and victims already vanished out of their minds.

They stepped out of the shower drying each other slowly. Strong arms pulled the younger man to his chest and there was an exchange of breaths and a moment of eyes sinking into eyes before velvet lips once again met silk ones. Slowly, tenderly the kisses deepened, soft moans and sighs filling the small room. With careful steps they moved out of the bathroom into the soft lit room. The smaller man maneuvered him over to the bed, without breaking skin contact and let him sit down on the bed.

His kisses trailed down his jaw where his teeth slightly scraped the skin, a soft moan escaped the lips of the older man. One of his hands was in the hair of the smaller man and the other on his back caressing it. Soft lips pressed against his pulse point and teeth continued the sweet assault. A slick tongue slid over his Adam’s apple feeling the movement, tasting the slightly damp and salty skin. The line of kisses traveled down his chest leaving a tingling feeling for the other man where the lips touched the tanned skin. His prominent arousal ached more with every kiss, a sweet and delicious torture. A scrape of teeth over his nipples made him gasp; his breath hitched as a hot tongue circled each one, caressing and teasing followed by teeth and lips. The line of kisses continued downwards as soft fingers caressed the inner of his thigh. A hand on his chest suggested him to lie down. He dropped onto his elbows and watched as the dark haired man slid lower, his hands brushing over his chest and now sensitive nipples and stopped on his stomach, stroking it with fingers like feathers.

His member laid flat against his stomach, leaking and throbbing. The hand on his inner thigh slid up and settled onto his wais. The smaller man was now between his legs, his fingers curled around his aching heat, coaxing a gasp out of him. His thump slid over the sensitive head and smeared the pre-cum over his whole length. Kisses trailed down his thigh where teeth slightly dug into his muscular flesh, callused but still soft hand moved up and down on him.

A broad tongue stroke from the bottom to the top was the only warning he got before his length disappeared into the welcoming cavern of heat and wetness. His tongue smoothly moved over the slit and gathered the leaking liquid and the older man moaned laying flat on his back, his hands fisting the sheets now. Teeth scraped over his arousal, summer blues watched as his back slightly arched of the bed and how his hands grabbed the sheets. He closed his eyes and moved his head hollowing out his cheeks, his tongue playfully teasing, swirling and dancing. The taste settled against his palate, slightly bitter and salty but elegant just as the man himself. His hand moved in tandem with his mouth at the base of his shaft, coaxing gasps and moans from the older man. A strong hand curled around his biceps and pulled him up against heated skin.

He placed a bruising kiss against silk lips, slipping his tongue between cherry temptations chasing his own taste. The taut body of the younger man pressed against his companions, his own hardness slick with pre-cum pressed against the older mans, he gasped into the other mouth, who swallowed the gasp like the finest wine. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of his sides, bruising and possessive.

The taller one turned the smaller one on his back, so his body covered, possessiveness and protectiveness surging through his blood, his groin pressed against the other and slightly thrusting. His kisses turned soft again as he slipped his hand between them and curled his long fingers around both of their aching needs and began to stroke slowly. The younger gasped and his back arched from the bed pressing against the other who trapped him beneath him. He watched as the younger man squirmed under him, his breath stuttered with every slow stroke. He leaned on one hand the other between them, his own breath unsteady. He bowed his head and kissed the pale column of the others neck, down to the collarbone where he bit down gently leaving a pink mark on the pale skin, soothing it over with a soft tongue.

“Hannibal…” A breathless gasp left his lips, he arched up, his body tightly pressed against the older mans, his head pressed in the crook of his neck “I…” His hands dragged down the muscular back leaving pink marks “I need you.” A whispered plea against the shell of his air, a temptation from cherry lips with a ragged breath.

His tongue exploder once again the warm welcoming place he couldn’t get enough of in answer to his young lovers plea, he wasn’t going to deny them anything. His teeth captured his lower lip and nipped at it.

He pushed himself up, his teeth scraping over the cherry red lips, now more a deep bordeaux. He hooked one of the younger mans knees over his shoulder and slicked his fingers with their pre-cum. He slowly inserted one finger, tenderly moving it in and out; trying to give the least discomfort. His body ached with the need to make their first time special in every way. He slowly inserted another and moved them slowly. The ragged breaths and moans of the younger man burned into his mind. When three fingers worked him open, he brushed his prostate. To the older man the sound that escaped the younger’s lips was a divine aria. He brushed it a few more times before he removed his fingers. A soft whine reached his ears and he bent down and placed a slow kiss on the other’s mouth while he rubbed their lengths together to coat his own with enough slick.

He once again pushed himself up to admire the disheveled man under him. His skin flushed in the same warm pink as his cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, kiss-swollen bordeaux lips, hands that stretched out and run through his hair and over his cheekbones, he turned his head and kissed the palm pressed to his cheek, eyes spilling over with lust, passion, want, need and affection.

The head of his throbbing need nudged the younger mans entrance and pushed slowly inside. There was a quick intake of breath on both sides as he settled himself deep inside the younger man. Tightness and heat surrounded him, beads of sweat rolled down his back. He slowly began to move, a delicious friction.

The sensation of the older man inside him, the fullness he experience, the still lightly painful friction edging to boundless bliss overwhelmed him. He clenched his eyes shut and tears rolled down his face.

The older man slowed down his movements even more and bowed down to kiss away the salty tears, he buried himself deep inside the dark haired man and pressed his lips against his. He slowly moved them over the younger man’s, probing lightly with his tongue until the other man opened it again and let him enter. He invited his tongue into a tango of heat and passion, he could feel the other man relax and he started to move again. He was soon met halfway, the other’s hips snapping back at each thrust.

They exchanged heated kisses as their bodies found a rhythmical pace. Sweaty bodies grinded against each other, sharp moans and loud gasp filling the small hotel room.

“Will…” A gasp against warm lips, he buried his face in the younger mans shoulder, picking up the pace, with every thrust brushing his prostate. A heavy energy collected in the base of his spine, his thrust stronger but not rhythmical anymore. He bit down forcefully on the other’s shoulder leaving a bruising mark as his climax overtook him. He emptied his seed into the other; his teeth still clamped down on the other’s shoulder muffling his cry.

Every brush against his prostate brought him closer to his peak, as he felt teeth lock onto his shoulder and heat filling him; he spilled his essence between them coating their stomachs in the slick substance. His arms warped tightly around the heavy form of the other laying on him.

Their bodies lived through the waves of the aftershock, warped tightly around each other. The teeth from his shoulder were removed, there was a mark deep enough to draw blood. The older man swiped his tongue over the fast bruising cut. They slowly came back to themselves as the aftershock dies down and bliss overtook them. He slipped out of him with a hiss and looked apologetic at his shoulder, he traced the outline of his teeth imprint with his finger tips. Red beads gathered where his harp teeth had punctured the younger man’s frail skin. He frowned down at the damaged he had done.

A smile greeted him as his eyes wandered up from the shoulder. Warm hands pulled him down so that his forehead rested against the other’s “Something to remember you by.” Honey dipped words slipped into his heart. A scorching breath ghosted over his lips, his mind chanted _‘Mine.’_ as he pressed his lips against lips that were a temptation that no holy man could withstand.

He gathered the smaller man in his arms and rolled them on to the side, kissing lips that tasted like paradise. He slowly entangled himself receiving a small sound of protest from the other man. He shushed him with a finger pressed against his lips and got up from the bed to gather a warm washcloth form the bathroom. Summer blues followed his lithe and muscular form as he walked into the bathroom and came back. He cleaned the younger man slowly, minding his sensitive skin and then his own. The warmth cooled fast in the open air even if the room was heated, a slight chill settled on his skin. There were no words exchanged, everything that there was too say was easily read in summer blue and sanguine eyes.

After he cleaned them he gathered the smaller man against his chest and pulled the cover over them. The room smelled of their combined essence, sweat and sweetness with a tang of bitterness. He brought a hand over the other’s middle where the other intertwined their fingers and placed them over his heart, his body melting into his broader frame. His pale skin still flushed and radiating warmth.

He nuzzled the other’s neck before placing a soft kiss to the bruised bite mark he left on his shoulder. He buried his face in the others hair and listened how his breathing evened out until his chest rhythmically swelled and deflated. The smell of cinnamon and lavender clung now to their skins. He didn’t notice when his own breathing evened out and he fell asleep surrounded by everything that is Will Graham. Smell, sound, taste, feel.

They slept through the night undisturbed; no monster visiting the younger mans dreams as the real one slept right next to him.

 

The merciless night had already settled over the restless city. Endless blacks and deep blues, broken by the shinning lights of the city. The moon and the stars hid behind thick gray clouds. In the air the smell of emission never really faded, it soaked into every fiber of the city, just as the dark dust from the concrete settled on the gray walls of the towering skyscrapers. The autumn cold seeped through every open crack.

His office was mostly darkened; only the small table lamp on his office desk was on, throwing bizarre shadows on the walls. Jagged teeth and sharp contours devouring the light. He sat over his patient notes and added bits he wasn’t able during the day. His eyes tiredly raked over his papers; there wasn’t much progress today with his patients.

He heard the front door open and hurried, but well known, steps. His therapy room door opened and the dark haired man entered, the cold clung to him and spread though the room.

The older man smiled at him, his hair was disheveled as always and his frame was clad in comfort not style. His summer blue eyes searched the room, lingering over things he had seen endless times.

“Will…” Affection painted his voice as he stood up.

“Don’t!” A sharp bark, an outstretched trembling hand, anger showing in the set of his jaw.

A frown appeared on his face “What’s wrong, _mon cher cœur_?” The younger man grimaced.

“Just don’t, Hannibal. How long?” His hands and words trembled as he spoke.

The older man walked in front of his desk and his frown deepened watching the younger man “I don’t understand what you mean?” Anger radiate from his body, souring the air.

“Stop lying, you know very well what I’m talking about.” His voice loud in the quiet room, echoing back from the gray walls. “How long have you been lying to me?” His voice was firm, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white, anger flowing of off him. “God Hannibal, you’ve been lying to everyone…, so many people and their blood on _your_ hands.” He breathed out his stance crumbling as he covered his face with his again trembling hands.

In an instant the older man understood what the younger man was asking him about. A blank mask appeared on his face as he approached him. He placed a hand on his shoulder to gain his attention, his body cold. His head snapped up and his hands grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket. “Why? Why? Why?” He yelled at him through his fury, shoving him against his desk.

The older man’s survival instinct overtook his thinking and one hand held the two hands together that were dangerously near his throat and the other scrambled over the desk for the scalpel that always lay there.

When his long digits grasped the cold metal, his hand moved on its own accord and buried the sharp blade into the soft flesh of the younger man’s stomach, cutting through cartilage and piercing the lung, moving downward it opened him up and blood spilled between them.

The younger man looked down where his lover’s hand still was buried in his stomach and how his blood run down, staining his pale gray suit and carpet, coloring everything crimson. He looked up and looked into sanguine eyes, his own eyes pleading that this wasn’t true. His feet buckled under him and his body crumbled on the floor. The bloody scalpel was still in the other’s hand. His own hands pressed against his wound but warm life liquid spilled between his fingers. His eyes were still looking into sanguine earth.

The older man stared down at the fast paling body of the younger man. He dropped to his knees in the puddle of the crimson liquid and pressed over the wound that gave away his life, the blood felt as if it was scorching his skin leaving blisters where it came in contact with his hands. The younger mans eyes glazed over, a steady path of blood streamed down the corner of his mouth. His cherry lips where now pale cherry blossoms, stained with red, his vision blurred. It ended as it started, with silent tears and trembling shoulders.

The younger mans hands were limp and the blood thickly oozed from his body. In his eyes captured eternally betrayal and hurt.

Hannibal bowed his head and pressed his warm lips against cold ones, the metallic taste of blood lingered on his lips, infused with Will’s honey sweetness “ _Mon cher cœur_ …”

 

And now he sits in front of a blazing fire, outside a blizzard moves through the old port city and his mind wanders to a midsummer storm and an early spring morning by the sea. Tired eyes that looked weary at the world but smiled at him, lingering touches and silk lips upon his, rough hands on his body and endless conversations. Dinners over candlelight and jokes between crime scenes. There is a smile on his faces and silver pearls rolling down his cheeks. And there is blood on his hands that he can’t seem to wash away, burning his skin when he thinks about it. In the end there are only summer blue eyes searching his sanguine one’s, betrayal and hurt spilling into a quiet autumn night.

_If I should live forever, my memories of love will be of you…_

**Author's Note:**

> 'Mon cher cœur' is french and means 'my dear heart'. Have fun with the heartbreak :D!


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